By Miles Wolff
For some time, two or three months if I remember correctly (which I seldom do) I have pondered over the idea of starting a newspaper of my own.
It has struck me from time to time that there are so many things which could be improved in the average paper. Yes, even The Tribune, which is far above the average, could be benefitted by my ideas.
Now I might not have any subscribers to my paper nor might advertisers flock to pay me for the use of its pages, but it would be a greatly improved sheet. Anyways, I have no need for money and would probably not want any advertisements in the paper. They detract from the general tone, don’t you think? Mr. Sherrill says yes.
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One of the first rules I would make would be the banishing of certain topics from my news columns. Neither Floyd Collins nor W.B. Cole would ever be mentioned. Governor Morrison would suffer from a curtailment of space in his utterances and all his arguments about the state deficit, or lack of deficit, would get never more than a non-pariel type while the greater part of it would be set in agate.
For the uninitiated, in newspaper jargon, I might explain that non-ariel type is smaller than that ordinarily used, while the latter would be almost impossible to read.
There are other changes which I would make in the news sections but I pass lightly over them.
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It is in the social department that many, many innovations would be instituted. The motto for my society editor would be: “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” Her office would, of course, be bomb-proof and bullet-proof, to give her protection against any who might become incensed at what she had said. It might even be better to acquire some husky 200-pund football player, a fullback, to take the job of writing up the society items. He wouldn’t be as likely to sustain injury.
As an example of the sort of stuff I should demand, I clip excerpts from my first personal column:
“Miss Claudia Club-foot, who says she is from Charlotte but who really makes her home in Pineville, is the unattractive visitor of Mr. and Mrs. I.O Everybody on North Avenue. When invited here before, she didn’t have a date during the entire time she was in Concord.”
“Miss Marilla Magpie and Mrs. Denton Dumbbell motored to Charlotte today I the latter’s broken down Ford where they had luncheon at one of the dirtier of the hot-dog stands. Later they attended a movie which Miss Magpie paid for out of her last week’s salary.
And from a wedding, I have the following:
“A ceremony, which was of little interest to anybody in town, was solemnized last night in the Church of the Holy Grail when Miss Iva Long Neck became the bride of T. Berry Chewinggum.
“The church had been specially decorated for the occasion, the bride’s brother having borrowed a number of ferns and flowers, most of which were wilted, for the occasion. Two or three candlesticks shed a puny light over the scene until they melted, as candles will do in hot weather, and had to be extinguished by the janitor to keep them from dripping on the carpet.
“Just before the ceremony, Miss Lost Chord wailed out some of her most atrocious stuff about love’s dream ever heard in the city. Her voice was even more rasping than usual.
“The bride entered on the arm of her father, Mr. Will U. Neck, and mad her way awkwardly up the center aisle. She was quite as homely as usual in a gown of white sateen trimmed in 10-cent insertion. A veil of imitation real lace, helped a little, hiding part of her face and figure She carried a bouquet of sweet peas and daffodils.
“The groom is not a very promising business man, as he has no job at the present. He hopes to e able to get some odd jobs when he and his bride return from their wedding tour to Denver and Mooresville.”
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There are other improvements which I have in mind bur which I shall not detail at the present time. If you like my idea, however, as they say over the radio, be sure and drop me a card.
Or better still, send me a telegram of the kind heard over the wireless during the world’s series: “Your paper idea coming in fine, All pulling for you to win except Bill Smith and he has his arms and a toe cut off. Keep up the good work.
(Signed) “BOOTLEG FILLNG STATION FANS”
From page 5 of the Concord Daily Tribune, Monday, Nov. 16, 1925
newspapers.digitalnc.org/lccn/sn92073201/1925-11-16/ed-1/seq-5/
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